


Earl Grey Moments

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Literature, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, the codeword had been <i>Rapunzel, let down your hair.</i> But Heavy had laughed so hard he'd woken up Scout and Soldier.  One had shot through his walls, the other had burst in and demanded to hear the great joke. After that, they'd compromised with bird calls as the signal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earl Grey Moments

**Author's Note:**

> pinch hit for Rya-sfm - Request 1) RED Medic/Blu Heavy Fluff. As said I love me some cross faction Heavy/Medic. I'd like to see maybe Red Medic sneaking off for some cuddling from the Blu Heavy. Maybe in the safty of Heavy's room or just in front of a fire place trying to keep warm.
> 
> Canon-typical violence.
> 
> Multiversecafe was kind enough to look over this.

At first, the codeword had been _Rapunzel, let down your hair._ But Heavy had laughed so hard he'd woken up Scout and Soldier. One had shot through his walls, the other had burst in and demanded to hear the great joke. After that, they'd compromised with bird calls as the signal.

His were, of course, a dove's coo. Three coos, and a he waited for the second signal, a mimicked whippoorwill. The call split the night, neither a whisper, nor quiet. A knotted bed sheet was slung out the window.

He didn't have to worry about climbing it up. Heavy could lift him much faster. Besides, it was one of his few chances to be lifted up, and fully appreciate the depth of Heavy's strength. Something his counterpart took for granted.

Heavy broke into a rare smile as he pulled Medic the rest of the way up. From across the battlefield, all Medic saw was the fierceness, the bear of a man who could rip his enemies apart limb-from-limb with his bare hands. There was an undercurrent of kindness beneath the fierceness, but not too much. Medic would never stand for too much mercy.

Only crackling firelight cast a dim, yet warm glow to the room. He'd told Heavy time and time again to get himself a reading lamp before he hurt his vision, but Heavy was stubborn as ever. Thin, rounded glasses were pushed down his nose.

He'd chosen a pair similar to Medic's own. Medic wasn't much of a sentimentalist, except when it came to birds, but he kept that knowledge deep inside, like a shared joke between them. Along with bookmarks and bird feathers pushed into his hand, Heavy made up for the absence.

Their clothes were dark, lost in the shadows of night. It wasn't bullets they evaded, but cameras and spotlights. A different uniform, one just for them. 

Every part of Heavy's room that wasn't utility was made of bookshelves. If Heavy could have converted the dark wood floors into bookshelves, he probably would've. They were mostly filled with Russian original editions, works of Tolstoy and Nabakov and other authors Medic knew nothing of. Heavy never could bring himself to read the translations and see how they butchered his language.

His large bed and even larger armchair, with a small end table took up the rest of the room. Heavy rarely sat in the common room; the men were always too boisterous and interrupting his reading. 

"I made tea, and brought an extra meal up," Heavy said.

"It was kind of you to have to deal with whatever Scout did because of that," Medic said.

"I swatted him like a fly for it," Heavy said.

"You always know just the things to say to make my day better," Medic said. "But tell me more, did you rip out his vocal cords? Choke him with his own intestines?"

"Today, I fed your Spy his own knife," Heavy said.

"Oh, what a brilliant punishment. That's practically something out of Dante's Inferno," Medic said.

Heavy nodded. "Yes. I read the translation, but feel it must be lacking. Most translations are," Heavy said.

"Indeed. I've read some Kafka translations, and I could only stomach a little bit before I put it for Archimedes to nest in. Ruining a masterpiece like that is unforgivable," he said.

It'd taken months to get through The Metamorphosis together, Medic translating his copy, first in German, then in English. Even though history had put their countries at odds, more than once Heavy had admitted _you make the language beautiful, Doktor._

But, Medic wasn't done with bloodshed. Even in his idle hours, he'd dream of the way his heart pounded seeing the other team, and his own team torn to shreds. But no one was capable of the kind of violence that the other team's Heavy was. It was amazing the kind of things a body could withstand. Mann co opened up such an opportunity for medicine. Whatever teammate had bothered him that day could be the one to test how long the body could survive when injected with poison.

A much more humane thing than doing something as awful as testing on birds. 

Medic blew on his tea, and lifted it to his mouth. Ah, Earl Grey. He could fault the British for many things, but their take on tea wasn't one of them. But like most things British, it was actually Chinese in origin, but claimed with a British name, like they'd thought of it themselves. 

When he set the cup down, he began again.

"You gained the upper hand. The way you tore through our troops. It puts our Heavy to shame," Medic said. He chuckled, remembering the moment of shame as they all came home back to the base. He had been the only one smiling.

"If you were by my side, surely we would have destroyed them utterly, until they would not even show up."

For all his pragmatism, Heavy could be quite the dreamer. 

Medic cleared his throat, pushing on to safer territory. What ifs and wishes did not belong spoken in their time. Heavy knew; he was ever intuitive both on and off the battlefield.

"You did a good show. You cut through our Scout. Pushed your saw straight through his chest and laughed as he sputtered and died," Heavy said.

"I'd like to think it as a gift for all the times he's stole your lunch," Medic said.

"You give the best gifts," Heavy said.

Heavy sat down in his large armchair, covered in the pelt of a bear he killed himself. A metal cage held the dove Medic had hatched for him. This remained the only one in the entire avian menagerie of the two Medics that wasn't constantly covered in blood.  
Ekaterina might have seemed a mouthful for such a small bundle of white fluff, but Heavy had a thousand little nicknames for her. Katya, Katyusha, to words Medic didn't know the meaning of.  
Heavy patted his thigh with his massive hand. When Medic positioned himself, Heavy wrapped them up in bearskin until they looked like some monstrous chimera fused together. An old god, something even beyond Übermensch or human comprehension.  
Sometimes Medic would simply find excuses in their stolen moments to marvel at him. He'd studied thousands of human bodies, and yet none of them could ever quite compare to Heavy, this wonder of nature. 

Medic rested against his chest. The sleepy cooing, the sound of fire, of breath lulled him to a sense of calm. He said nothing of how a sandwich had been left on a ledge just when the battle had gotten at its worst, how he had refused to shoot down him, even in battle, how he'd averted his eyes at every twist of the knife, or bullet through his skull.

They were mercenaries; but even hired killers were allowed small mercies. Medic was no sentimentalist, but he could make exceptions.


End file.
